I have a friend who is Mormon. I'm completely not interested in joining the religion, but I do think it's great that she's found something that makes her so happy and gives her peace in her life. That tends to be how I see most religions. As long as it's working for you and you're not being an asshole to anyone, I'm happy for you.
Sometimes she posts videos with a rather non-offensive but still LDS feel to them. I don't always watch them, but sometimes I do because it gives me a better understanding of her perspective. Last night, as I was trying to wind myself down for sleep, I watched one such vid. This one was by a woman who was talking about motherhood (of course) and how it passes by far quicker than you think it will. Eighteen years isn't really all that long.
The point seemed to be that, while life is marked by certain timestamps, birth, birthdays, learning to walk, vacations, holidays, school, graduations, seasons, those are only instances along the way. What life really consists of are a series of ordinary days where nothing of importance seems to happen.
This is just an illusion though, because these ordinary days, being the majority of our lives, are truly the important parts. The days when there is no drama, no plans, no activities, nothing goes wrong . . . we tend to not pay attention to them, but we really really should.
I had an ordinary day today. I hung out with my roommate, cleaned a fan, did my everyday household stuff, petted the cats, and told stories to people. The biggest thing that happened was I got ice cream.
But, I find that at the end of this day, I loved it. I didn't have to hurt or ache on a personal level. I didn't have to handle any annoying tasks. I got to laugh and enjoy what was around me. I liked my day.
So this is my hope for you. After reading this, and rolling your eyes a little at my schmaltziness, promise yourself that next time you have a day where you're just going through the motions, that you WON'T just go through the motions. I hope you find meaning in your ordinary moments. They are, after all, yours.
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